


the silent stars go by

by achlilies



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Christmas, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Being a Little Shit, Living Together, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), stupidly so, thank god for that tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:53:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28986660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/achlilies/pseuds/achlilies
Summary: “Jesus, did you take the display too?”“Shut up! We don’t have anything here, and I...” Martin glances down at the footprints they’ve left in the snow. “...If we’re going to do this every year, we’ll need a lot of the basics,” he finishes.Or: It can be hard to grasp what you have, and if you are allowed to keep it.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 6
Kudos: 78





	the silent stars go by

**Author's Note:**

> Oooookay so it’s been years since I’ve written and published any fic, so hopefully I’m not too rusty. Any feedback is always welcome!  
> I just needed to write something positive and silly in the light of listening to 191. Also, it’s not discussed so I didn’t tag it, but I did write Jon with ADHD in mind as it is important to me.  
> Title taken from O Little Town of Bethlehem.

Looking out the frosted window, Jon can’t help but let his thoughts float around like the fat little flakes falling to the ground outside. It’s already been a couple months. Jon isn’t entirely sure of how the two of them have gotten so lucky; it seemed an inevitability that _something_ would have managed to put a rather grisly end to their slim hope of something normal together.

But here they are, in December, and the only terrible thing that has reared its ugly head is the man working one of the local cafés, who made a capital s Shitty remark about Jon’s (admittedly rough) appearance they day they made it to the safehouse. Martin promptly stood up, grabbed Jon’s hand and dragged the two of them out of the building, muttering obscenities under his breath the entire way to another equally grubby storefront. They still haven’t returned there, and Martin always gives the shop a pointedly irritated look each time they pass.

God, Jon is absolutely in love with him. He’s thinking about it a lot lately. Now is one of the times where he is nearly overwhelmed with it, a tangible feeling that starts in his chest and tingles all the way to the tips of his limbs. He still doesn’t know what to do to express it, aggressively bubbling up under the surface until he is embarrassingly reduced to a mushy mess. More often than not Jon will go what he can only describe as love catatonic - just staring at Martin in silence, opening his mouth to say something, every time only a simple little “I love you” slipping out. The first few times, Martin would clam up and go red, or twitch mildly like he’d been electrocuted before he could even respond. Now though, like clockwork, he’ll smile at Jon and look him right in the eyes to tell him “I love _you_ ” before returning to whatever it was he was doing. Martin never acts bothered by it, just looks hopelessly endeared, and has never responded with any less conviction than he did the first time he’d ever said it.

Jon curls up on himself a little more. The insulation in the safehouse isn’t... state of the art, and while mildly handy, isn’t something Martin can really fix. The heating works fine, but Jon’s favorite spot on the couch is right next to a draft, and he already runs cold. Normally he would just press himself into his boyfriend’s space to prevent having to abandon his prime seat, but Martin is out traversing the blizzard to get them some more essentials for the next few days in case the storm gets worse. So Jon gets up, wincing at the cold of the wood floor on his bare feet, and does a frankly ridiculous skipping motion to the bedroom as quickly as possible to get his thick cabin socks Martin brought him home at the start of autumn. Feet taken care of, Jon slinks over to Martin’s drawers before remembering he doesn’t have to be sneaky about it right now, and allows himself to Know the location of the big baby blue jumper Martin always tries to hide. They have little tug of wars over the thing, roomy and made of ungodly soft fabric. It’s Martin’s absolute favorite, but Jon will pull The Face and he concedes every time. Jon knows that Martin is only pretending to be miffed about the loss of the jumper, and that the little quarrels over it are simply a performance the two of them are both in on, content in their roles. He slides it on over his head and allows it to swallow him before stealing the quilt from the bed and padding back to his spot on the sofa. Jon throws the quilt down and grabs a glass of water and picks a DVD from the little collection they’ve amassed before settling back down. He drifts off listening to another cookie cutter love confession coming from the television’s crackly speakers, the soft glow of affection still flickering in his chest.

_______

Jon is rudely awoken to the front door rattling in the frame. He nearly falls off the couch, overcome with terror for a moment before hearing Martin’s frustrated voice through the wood: “-absolute piece of shit!” Jon lets his head fall back, chuckling quietly to himself and trying to fully wake up before Martin gets the door unstuck, stumbling a bit and tracking in a hefty amount of snow with him. Martin immediately turns and gives the door a little kick, points his finger at it and calls it a few creative names before turning back around and making eye contact with Jon, who has been watching the exchange with rapt, amused attention. Martin colors.

“Oh, ah- s-sorry. Door wouldn’t open and it’s absolutely _freezing_ out there. Bit rude of it, honestly.” He frowns a little. “You look like you were comfortable, I really hope I didn’t wake you.”

Jon waves his hand. “No, you’re fine. Well, you did wake me up, but I didn’t really need to nap, and I think that exchange would make it worth it even if I had.” His lip curls mischievously. “I didn’t know our door had such a name, but I think we should shorten it a little as it’s quite a mouthful. How about ‘Sir Fuckface, Esquire?’ Ooh, or-”

“ _Okay_ , wise guy. Can you at least come help me with the bags if you’re going to make fun of me?” Martin’s face has scrunched up into the petulant expression he makes when he’s embarrassed that Jon adores. Jon couldn’t deny him anything if he tried.

“Yes, alright, as long as you promise to leave the poor door out of any more grumping you have to do.” He stands up, bones cracking from being curled up on the couch, and slips his big outdoor boots on to walk down the driveway. Martin looks a little... nervous? “You alright, Martin?”

Martin startles a bit, looking sheepish. “Y-yes, well. I may have picked up some extra things.” He pauses. “A lot of extra things. God, it’s just that one of the stores along the little strip had this lovely holiday display up, and when I walked in they had trees, and decorations, and I haven’t gotten the chance to decorate in so _long_ , and I never really got many good Christmases, and I got so _sappy_ thinking about how much I would love to decorate it with you, and I just walked out of there with it without even _thinking_ about whether or not you would want to or even be okay with it being in the house, and-”

Jon places his finger up against Martin’s lips. “Whoa, okay. It’s fine, it’s, well, actually-” Jon cuts himself off, takes a deep breath, and smiles up at Martin, both slightly red in the face. “I actually think it’s really... sweet. That you thought of me. And that you wanted to share this with me. And I’m absolutely willing and _want_ to do it, and it doesn’t bother me at all. So. Don’t worry. Let me help you carry it in.”

Martin grins. “Okay.”

They both trudge down the driveway, careful not to slip. Martin opens the trunk of the car (“A _Mini Cooper?_ Really, Martin?” “It was the nicest thing they had! I was trying not to attract too much attention to our _fake IDs!_ ”) and Jon realizes Martin really wasn’t lying about the amount of decorations he’d brought home.

“Jesus, did you take the display too?”

“Shut up! We don’t have anything here, and I...” Martin glances down at the footprints they’ve left in the snow. “...If we’re going to do this every year, we’ll need a lot of the basics,” he finishes.

Jon processes his words for a moment before he lands on it. _Oh. Next year. Us being here. Together. Safe. Our house, our car, our tree_ \- Jon makes an incoherent sound in the back of his throat, cutting off his train of thought. “R-right. I suppose that’s fair.” He kicks a small icicle off the bumper. “Well. Let’s get all this inside, and then we can sort through it. I’m still freezing, and if we’re going to put all this up, I’ll have to be at least mobile.”

Martin shifts a little, implications still heavy in the air, before managing to shake it off and lean into the car to grab some of the bags. “Here, you should take the groceries in first so we have space to wiggle some of the fragile stuff out.”

Jon slides his hands between Martin’s and the handles of the bags, the weight of them causing him to falter somewhat, nearly misstepping on a chunk of ice and pitching down the driveway. Martin thrusts his arms out quickly in an attempt to catch Jon, who has already righted himself and looks increasingly embarrassed. They’re both quiet for a moment before Martin snorts, and Jon kicks up a little snow at him. “Fuck off.”

Martin can’t help it, he’s _really_ losing it now, face ruddy and eyes wet with tears. “God, I can’t even say I’m sorry for laughing, can I? You just- you looked so- ridiculous, in your house clothes and your huge boots nearly wiped out by _groceries_!”

It’s Jon’s turn to look sour for a laugh at his expense, furrowing his eyebrows and jutting his bottom lip out. “I didn’t have to come out into the freezing cold in my _jammies_ to help you with this, did I? I was plenty cozy on the couch, and now I’m thinking I should have just stayed there.” He turns to make his way back up the driveway.

At the word _jammies_ Martin cackles a little harder, but pulls it together when Jon starts to walk off, spinning him back around carefully and pulling him closer. “C’mon, now we’re even.” He leans in to kiss Jon on the forehead, winks at him, and then gives him a brief push in the direction of the house. “I can feel you shivering, go in and start putting those away and I’ll get the rest.”

Bright red, Jon treks up to the house, nudging the door open with his foot and setting down the bags onto the kitchen countertop. He unpacks the refrigerated items and puts them away, starting on pantry items when he hears Martin thump against the door another time, swearing loudly before stomping inside loaded up with what seemed to be everything but the tree. Leaving the rest of the shopping behind, Jon peers into the living room to see if Martin needs any help, but he is clearly occupied with untangling himself from all of the bags and decorations he’s covered himself in. Jon hurriedly pulls his boots back on in the hope of beating Martin to the tree, and nearly spills down the driveway a second time in his haste. The tree is indeed the last thing left to grab, and Jon slides the box out, leaning it against the side of the car before slamming it shut. The box for the tree is fairly tall and poorly balanced, but he manages to finagle a good grasp on it and takes methodical steps up the driveway before Martin’s surprised face pops into view through the doorframe.

“Oh Jon, I was going to get that!” He rushes out of the door to help, but Jon shoos him off.

“No, I’ve got it. You carried in all those decorations, let me at least get the tree.”

Martin backs off and shakes his head fondly. “Alright Hercules, but I’m going to follow you in; can’t have you breaking any bones, can we?”

Jon grumbles at the nickname, but doesn’t say anything more, and has little trouble getting the tree into the house and set down by the fireplace. He turns triumphantly to gloat at Martin, but he’s gazing back with such a candid expression on his face that for a moment, Jon can’t breathe. When he gets his bearings, Jon chokes a bit on his words, but says, “I hope the decor isn’t ugly.” There’s a beat of a silence, and then Martin’s face becomes indignant.

“ _Ugly_ \- Of _course_ I didn’t get ugly decorations, Jon!” Jon grins, and Martin whips off a wet glove to throw at his face. “You impossible little- little- _gremlin_. Come here!” And with that Martin sprints towards Jon, who yelps and ducks out of arm’s reach. Jon runs off towards the bedroom, still trying to wriggle away as Martin catches up and sweeps him up quickly, throwing Jon over his shoulder and making his way to the bedroom.

Martin tosses Jon onto the bed and glares at him. “You also seem to be wearing something that isn’t yours. I don’t remember being asked for permission to take my things.”

Jon holds in his smile, remembering his role. “Yes, well, I don’t think there’s anything you can do about it, is there?”

Martin keeps up his glare for a moment, then cracks, sighing wistfully. “No, I suppose not.” He flops onto the bed and scoops Jon back up into his arms, burying his face into his own jumper. Jon wraps his arms around Martin, one hand gently gripping his curls, the other lazily stroking as much of Martin’s back as he can reach. The two of them stay there in the comfortable silence for just a moment when Martin lifts his head and breaks it. “Did you finish putting everything away?”

Jon huffs. “No, but I did get all of the refrigerated items into the fridge, so we can lay here for another minute.” He squeezes Martin a little harder, wiggling as much as he can to intertwine their legs. Martin rolls his eyes, but offers up no complaint and gently rests his head back down on Jon’s chest. They lay there like that for a while, breathing in sync and content to share each other’s warmth before Martin shifts again, obviously uncomfortable.

“Sorry, Jon, it’s just- you’re so bony. My neck hurts.”

Jon sighs and relinquishes his grip so Martin can sit up and crack his neck before shuffling off the bed. He makes a discontented noise at the sudden rush of cold that makes its way into Martin’s old spot, but follows suit to get the leftover groceries in order. It’s quick work to get the rest of the things in their rightful spots, just some tea, rice, and other various dry goods that go in virtually the same spot anyway. Jon hangs their reusable bags by the door and then finds Martin in the living room, the floor of which is now completely covered in baubles, garland, lights, and a multitude of other various festive items. There is soft, classical Christmas music playing from his phone. Jon nearly steps on one of the prettier baubles on his way in, but quickly pulls his foot back and just freezes in the doorframe to keep himself from accidentally crushing anything beneath his clumsy footsteps. Martin looks up from where he has the stand for the tree unfolded on the floor, and stands up quickly, pushing some of the decor out of the way to make Jon a narrow path. “My fault! I was trying to take stock, you know, remember all the stuff I bought, forgot you’d actually have to use the floor, whoops.” Jon steps carefully through the cleared spot, and stares at Martin expectantly, waiting for instruction. Martin clears his throat and picks up a small piece of paper, screwing up his face at it.

“The instructions are, well. Uh. Only in French? I thought setup would be obvious, but the stand is just a pole with all these branches that hook into it, I think? And I’m not sure where...”

Jon tunes him out for a moment, static crackling from the phone speaker, then opens his mouth. “There are tiny colored dots on the bars of the branches, they go in rainbow order up the base of the tree, red is the largest, and purple is the smallest.” Silence. “Sorry. Faster.”

Martin looks at him for a moment, then shrugs. “I mean, I can’t really complain that you’re saving me all this time trying to interpret the basics of French.” He starts rifling through the box, sorting the branches by color and handing the piles to Jon to find space on the floor for before they get to work. The two of them get the tree set up quickly, then wrap the colored lights and silver garland around it. The baubles prove to be slightly more finicky, needing hooks that Martin has to go on a manhunt for, refusing Jon’s offers to Know where he put them. Once all the baubles are hooked, they take turns hanging up their favorites of the bunch before the tree is rather crowded with the sheer amount they’ve decided are worthy of a branch.

“Righto. Only one more touch, then!” Martin pops open a box Jon hasn’t noticed, and pulls out a beautiful vintage topper, long and curved like some of the baubles dangling from the tree. “I thought the angels were too... religious?”

“Yeah,” Jon agrees, “This one is perfect.” Martin beams, standing up and looking up at the tree.

“Hmm... I don’t think I’ll be tall enough to reach the top...” Martin feigns confusion for a moment, then lights up and turns to Jon. “Aha! Guess I’ll just have to lift you so you can put it up. Here, take this, hop on my shoulders.” He shoves the topper into Jon’s hands and squats into a silly position, holding his arms behind his back to provide support for Jon to climb up. Jon sighs, but positions himself properly onto Martin’s shoulders.

Martin stands back up and maneuvers them closer to the tree, bracing his hand on the wall and leaning so Jon can reach the top. Jon sets the topper in place, ensuring it isn’t crooked, then pats Martin on his head to signal he’s done. Martin takes a couple steps back but doesn’t put Jon down yet, just staring at the tree for a minute. Jon thinks it looks wonderful, homey and classic, and tugs at nostalgia in a way he didn’t quite expect. After another minute of Martin’s silence, Jon ruffles his hair tenderly. “You alright?” Right as he asks, Martin sniffles, shoulders trembling. Jon’s heart leaps. “Martin? Can you put me down, love?” Martin doesn’t respond, but crouches enough for Jon to dismount clumsily, turning him around and yanking him into an embrace.

Matin finds his voice after a moment, wiping his face. “God, sorry. I just haven’t really gotten to do this in, what, well over a decade? We just stopped celebrating, after... Dad.” He cuts himself off, and Jon doesn’t push. “The only good Christmas I got after that was the first one down in the Archives, and even then it wasn’t anything like this. I just-” His eyes well up with tears again. “I love you so much. I can’t believe we get to have this.”

Jon can’t see. He blinks, and then he’s crying too. Neither of them move, clinging desperately to one another, quietly letting themselves release a fragment of that fear and disbelief into the safety of a lover’s arms. The Christmas music still plays in the background, a gentle comfort in the quiet room.

______

Martin pulls away long after they’ve both calmed down, looking at Jon with love etched into every inch of his expression. All of the built up affection, the feelings Jon let fester in his heart only hours ago surges forward and he squishes Martin’s cheeks in his hands, kissing him almost aggressively. Their glasses _clink_ together, and Martin snuffs in amusement before responding, cupping the back of Jon’s head gently and twisting the strands between his fingers. Jon feels tingly, like a firework ready to burst; words bubble up from his throat and he leans back.

“I love you. Martin Blackwood, practically perfect in every way, the reason I- well, not really breathe, I suppose, just... Christ, I don’t know, I’m rambling and I can’t stop it now, this isn’t coming out at _all_ how I meant it and-”

“Jon,” Martin interrupts, “Did you just reference Mary Poppins? To tell me you loved me?”

“Ah, ha, um. I suppose? It was the first thing I thought of.”

Martin giggles. “I love you too. We should really finish setting up, I can’t let you being adorable keep distracting me like this.”

Jon looks affronted. “ _Me? You’re_ the one who’s-“

“Ah-ah-ah,” Martin sets his finger over Jon’s lips. “I don’t want to hear it. Start putting your cute self to work, sweetheart!”

They spend the rest of the evening sorting through, putting up, and packing away the rest of the decorations. By the end of it, there are festive knickknacks on various flat surfaces around the house, stockings on the fireplace, and even a wreath on the front door. Jon makes them a simple dinner of roasted potatoes and baked chicken while Martin takes the leftover boxes to the attic and sweeps up all the artificial pine needles littering the floor, and then they curl up in the bed together, worn out. Jon is laying half on top of Martin, tracing words absentmindedly onto his chest when Martin speaks up again.

“Hey, do you- do you really think this is going to last? I know it’s been months now but... I can’t help feeling like we’re waiting for something to happen, you know?” Jon’s stomach turns rather unpleasantly. “Sorry, probably not the time to bring it up. It just eats at me, sometimes, when things are going alright. I feel like I always have to be prepared to lose it. To lose you.”

Jon props himself up on his elbow and looks at Martin, who now is stalwartly avoiding eye contact. “Martin...” Jon inhales through his nose. “I don’t know. Maybe? I hope so. I try to ignore it too, sometimes I can’t, but even if-” Martin looks back at him. “Even if we don’t get to keep this, I refuse to sully what time I have with you by thinking about the times that I won’t. Even if that’s tomorrow, next year, never. I will be here, with you, loving you, no matter what could separate us.” Jon fists his hand in the sheets. “I spent much too long undervaluing you. I’ll make it up to you with every ounce of time I have left.” Martin’s eyes are wide, and he isn’t breathing. “If anything happens, then, well. We’ll face it. Together. Whether it’s a flat tire or the fucking end of the world, I will be right be your side.” Jon exhales heavily. “Sorry. That’s not even a fraction of how I feel about it. I’m just exhausted, and we’ve had quite the emotional day today. I’ll be able to explain better when-”

“No,” Martin whispers, “No, that was. You’re right. We have each other. And I won’t let that change again.” He drags Jon in for a soft kiss, then pulls away and plants another on his nose. “Let’s go to sleep, yeah?”

Jon smiles. “Yeah.”

They shuffle back in towards each other before finding a comfortable spot, drifting off with the knowledge that that’s what they’ll always be.

Together.

**Author's Note:**

> While my personal vision for this timeline is that the apocalypse never comes, you could also slide it into the canon timeline where Jon does read Jonah’s statement, if you really wanted to. Thanks for reading :^)


End file.
